Ah, you’re asking the right question. The first recorded paper appeared in China around 105 CE, courtesy of a court eunuch named Cai Lun, who supposedly mixed hemp, mulberry bark, and fish netting to create a surprisingly smooth sheet. It was so well received that the emperor ordered it to replace bamboo scrolls—though I’m convinced the real reason was to free up more bamboo for the imperial gardens. Fast forward to the 8th‑century, and paper had already crossed the Silk Road, finding a home in the monasteries of the Middle East where monks used it to transcribe the Qur’an, a testament to its quiet versatility. That little sheet, humble in origin yet revolutionary in function, truly earned its place as a canvas for every era’s creative whims.

Yes, monks were quite the artisans. They’d soak the hemp‑mulberry sheets in a tannin solution—often derived from bark or even from the galls of oak—to give the paper a subtle, almost parchment‑like resilience. Then they’d let it dry in the sun, which made it slightly textured, almost like a rough‑handed surface that ink could cling to better. That tiny change meant the ink didn’t blot as easily, giving the script a crisp, almost living line that seemed to breathe under the candlelight. It was a neat trick that turned humble paper into a vessel for the divine.

They didn’t have a secret laboratory, but they were clever. Besides the tannin soak, monks would sometimes add a bit of lime to raise the pH, making the fibers a little more rigid, and a splash of ash or chalk to give the sheet a faint, almost chalky finish that helped ink stay put. A touch of wildflower resin was occasionally slipped in to keep the fibers from curling, and sometimes the whole batch was brushed with a light oil from olives to give it a subtle sheen. Those humble tweaks produced a paper that felt like a living, aromatic canvas—just the sort of thing that would make your sketches seem a touch more… divine.